The Ruins of My Fathers
by Chocochino11
Summary: Panem is the only country left, and therefore, the only nation. He knows this. But strange things have been happening all over his country for the past few years, all leading up to the annual celebration of the Hunger Games, where the odds are never in anyone's favor... (Future AU, humans & nations used)
1. Panem

Hello! I just had a few quick notes on this story before we begin:

1. This is _not_ a Hetalia AU. It is a future-fic, assuming that the future of the world is the dystopian society presented in the Hunger Games. It is also assuming that there are few (if any) other countries left in the world besides Panem.

2. Most of the Hunger Games characters will not appear in this story (Katniss, Peeta, Gale, etc.)

I believe that is all. If you have any questions feel free to ask =) Now on to the story!

The Capitol-

Panem sat in the comfortable white armchair in his living room, sipping from a cup of tea as he gazed out the window. He could see clearly across the Capitol from his suite on the 52nd floor, although he'd grown tired of the view some 80 years ago. Honestly, he'd grown tired of most of the things in his country.

Unlike the people he lived around, Panem felt no need to alter his appearance with dyes or talons or whatever the heck else was in style nowadays. He kept his pale skin color, light brown hair and blue eyes the same as they'd always been. His Boss got after him all the time to "keep up with fashion" so he could "connect with his people better," so Panem dressed up and put on ridiculous make-up whenever he went out, but changed the second he got back home. He didn't understand why, because he used to love this stuff when he was younger, but lately he found most of the fashion trends to be absurd and downright scary. Seriously, what sane person wanted whiskers surgically implanted in their face? In any case, he did as he was told, decking himself out anytime he needed to go be the face of the nation.

He wasn't allowed to leave the Capitol, hadn't been for the past 50 or 60 years, and no one except Boss, high-ranking government officials and some of the government staff were allowed to talk to him. If he needed anything, he had to send a servant to get it for him, since the store clerks could not speak to him. He didn't understand his complete isolation, because he appeared on TV quite a bit and most of the country was well aware of who (or what, technically) he was, but he, again, did as he was told.

Boss said that it was safer for Panem to be kept by himself due to his "unpredictable mood swings." Panem didn't consider them all that unpredictable though, seeing as they always came at the same time of year; the Hunger Games. Boss had assured him that the whole nation was fine with the somewhat twisted reality show that occurred annually, so Panem wasn't sure why he became so mood-swingy at that time of year, as if half of him was insanely overjoyed and half was being slowly ripped apart in agony. During that time, he was not a very stable person to be around, which meant Boss only allowed him to appear at the Opening Ceremonies. After that, he was locked in his apartment for the duration of the Games, like a child being grounded for breaking his sibling's toy.

Come to think of it, Panem mused, the Reaping Day would be coming up soon, within the next week or so.

He didn't pay much attention to time anymore, seeing as his schedule was pre-planned and recited to him each morning by a guard named Feroe. He supposed he should attempt to convince Feroe to weasel more gym-time into his agenda for the next few days, since he would soon be cut off from it.

Panem stood up, set his teacup down on the windowsill, and walked over to the desk on the other side of the room. He pulled a pen from the top drawer and an index card from the second one.

'Ask Feroe to'he began to write, when suddenly someone knocked on the door to his suite.

"Panem?" A familiar voice called. Panem straightened up.

"Yes, come in," he called back. He heard the deadbolt slide to the unlocked position, the door open and close, and the lock slide back into place. A few seconds later a tall, muscular man with orange skin and flaming red hair walked into the living room.

"Good afternoon, Panem," he said, looking down at the nation, who was only maybe an inch or two shorter than him.

"Afternoon, Feroe," Panem replied with a sigh, glancing toward the front hallway. "I haven't done anything wrong today, have I? Because you keep locking my door."

"No, you haven't." Feroe walked over to the armchair and sat down. He pulled a small stack of papers from his flame-decorated suit jacket, pushed the teacup out of the way, and placed them on the windowsill. "I have one of those important matters to discuss with you, and I wanted to ensure you would be in your room when I had the time to speak with you."

"Oh, that. There's another one?" Panem strode quickly over, grabbing the papers and sitting on the floor to leaf through them. "Where this time?"

"A girl, near District 4. Some fishermen found her two days ago."

"Does Boss know?"

"He was informed immediately after they found her."

"Of course."

"My payment," Feroe held out his hand. Panem looked up.

"Of course," he repeated wearily.

The nation climbed slowly to his feet, leaving the papers on the floor, and turned towards his bedroom. In there, on the luxuriously made bed, a cat was stretched over the bright blue comforter. The cat's fur was brown, the same light shade as her owner's hair, and she wore a swirled red-and-yellow ribbon around her neck. She began to purr when Panem pet her head. When he curled his hands around her midsection and lifted her, however, she hissed.

"Shh, Paneko." He shifted her so he was holding her properly, and continued to pet her head until she calmed down. It took a few minutes before she settled comfortably into his arms.

"Panem!" Feroe barked from the living room. The nation winced.

"One minute!"

He hugged Paneko close to his chest as she started purring again. "I'll miss you," he said. "I'm so sorry." The cat looked up at him curiously, as if confused by what he'd just said. Sometimes, he almost believed that she understood him.

"_Panem_," Feroe said again, sounding very irritated this time.

The nation stood and hurried into the other room where Feroe stood waiting, upsetting the cat in doing so. The guard grabbed Paneko by the back of her neck and yanked her from Panem's arms.

"President Snow has arranged a conference with you today. You will meet him in the garden at 4 o' clock. You are free to do as you please until then." He walked briskly to the front door, holding the thrashing cat at arm's length. When he left, the door was once again locked, bolt sliding home with a resounding clank.


	2. List Day

District 1-

Awe swung his legs lazily over the arm of the couch. He was munching on an apple as two reporters on the TV chattered excitedly about the Reapings in a week.

It was all honestly rather boring for Awe. The whole Reaping process, that is. Sure, he lived in the Training Center, but he was only 14 and had no chance of being picked as the volunteer until he was at least 17. Even if his name was miraculously drawn, someone would step up in his place. It was a terrible shame, because Awe would make a freaking awesome tribute—it was part of his name!

_Well_, he figured, _think how much more awesome I'll be in another three years!_

He stretched his leg out slightly, tripping another trainee as she passed. She swatted his knee and continued over to one of the chairs, shooting the younger boy a glare as she went. The common room was unusually crowded today, since all the teens had one of their rare days off. It was List Day, far more important than Reaping Day, and the older ones were all determined to see the volunteer list first, which resulted in nearly forty people cramming into a room meant for twenty. Quite a few of them were annoyed with Awe taking up an entire couch to himself.

"Move! Back, all of you!" The voice of one of the Training Center attendants boomed through the room, its owner following soon after. "Away from the board! Now!"

The trainees pushed back, and someone crushed up against the couch, trapping Awe's legs. He frowned and kicked the backs of the person's knees until they released him, and then he swung around to face the TV, sitting cross-legged. He could feel the rush of air when the crowd behind him surged forward. Wait for it—

"What!"

Chandelier clearly hadn't been chosen. Awe smirked.

"No way!"

"That's not fair!"

"What the hell is this?!"

Awe slowly turned back toward the listing board, curious as to why _nobody_ seemed to be happy with the names on it. Just as the board came into his line of sight, someone grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him from the couch.

"What the hell did you do?" An angry black-haired boy named Majesty screamed at him. Awe just raised an eyebrow.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Now let go of me." He reached up and wrenched Majesty's fingers from his shirt, but didn't release them right away. Instead, he formed his own hand into a fist, tightening his grip until the other's fingers turned purple. "And what was your problem with me again?"

"Look at the list," the boy hissed. Awe smiled, nodded, and dragged Majesty along behind him as they maneuvered through the dense horde of teenagers. They were all glaring at him. When he reached the board he saw why.

_Volunteer List_

_Male: Awe_

_Female: Air_

_Report to training room F tomorrow at 7 a.m._

Awe's eyebrows scrunched together as he was struck with, well, his name.

"I can't be…" He trailed off.

Majesty sneered as he jerked his hand from Awe's. "You shouldn't be—"

"Where's Air?" Awe cut him off.

"Why?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Awe saw an older girl's hand curling into a fist. If he didn't do something quick, a fight would break out, and the odds of him against forty were not in his favor.

"Because she was the one who did it. She said she was going to do something to try and get the two of us picked, but I didn't think she was serious. I guess she did it after all."

The gathered trainees began murmuring to each other, malicious intent very apparent in their eyes. Awe took that as a good time to sneak out.

He went hunting through the various training rooms in search of his friend. Most of the rooms were empty, it was a vacation day, but sure enough he found her practicing spin-kicks in room L. She jumped and snapped the dummy back with each hit of her bare feet, her long ash brown ponytail flying behind her. She was only a year older than Awe, but she far out-ranked him in hand-to-hand combat; this was balanced out by Awe's ability to destroy her in a sword fight.

"Air!" Awe yelled.

The girl sent one final kick straight to the dummy's head, knocking it clean off.

"What do you want, Awe?" She wiped the sweat from her forehead with one of her overly-long shirt sleeves (seriously, those things were half a foot longer than her arms).

"Have you seen the Volunteer List yet?" He asked as he crossed his arms and leaned casually against the wall near her.

"No, who is on it?"

"Funny you should ask that." His red eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Because the others are pretty upset about it."

"Why? Who was picked?"

"Can you guess?"

Air's eyebrows drew together. "Chandelier and Majesty?" she asked, although she felt like she already knew the answer.

"No, see, that's who everyone else thought it'd be too."

"Who is it instead?"

"I think you know." He stared her down, but didn't move towards her; no need for a fist-fight right now, especially since he'd lose.

Air paused, face twisting with confusion. "It cannot be me."

Awe just raised an eyebrow at her.

"Me? _I _am the volunteer?"

Awe nodded.

"Who is the male?"

"Me," Awe replied with a crooked grin.

Air rolled her eyes and grabbed her water bottle off a nearby bench. "Alright, the joke is over, Awe. I need to get back to training."

"No joke, Air. You and me are this year's District 1 tributes. You can go look at the list yourself if you want, although you might want to wait until dinner. Right now the room is full of angry people who want you dead."

"And you."

"Oh, no, see, I told everyone it was your fault."

"What!" Air's coffee brown eyes widened. "Why would you do that?"

"Better to have them mad at you than me."

Air sighed and rubbed her forehead in irritation, but chose not to respond. Awe studied her face for a minute.

"_Do you_ know why we were chosen?" he asked, more serious now.

"No. Neither of us has even been here that long; they cannot possibly think we are ready to…" She paused for a second. "What if that is why?"

"What?"

"What if it is because of how they found us? They do not know where we came from." She stepped closer to him. "What if they are trying to get rid of us?"

Awe snorted. "Come on, seriously, Air? If they were trying to get rid of us, they'd just kill us."

"I _am_ serious, Awe. We are not as old, or as well-trained, as the other Careers. Why would they pick us as their champions unless they actually want us to lose?"

"Who says we're going to lose? I'm freaking amazing, and I don't usually tell people this, but you're okay too. Nobody can beat me with a sword; nobody can beat you without one." He trailed off, looking at the ceiling in thought. A sly smirk crossed his face. "Of course, I'll probably have a sword or something in the arena, so I'll probably be winning so… you're right: you're dead! I look forward to being in an alliance with you before I chop your head off, though!"

Awe smiled broadly and clapped a hand on his district mate's shoulder. As he expected, fear flashed in Air's eyes, and she snatched Awe's wrist and twisted it sharply. Awe's grin didn't falter.

"You gonna snap my arm again, Air?"

"I should," she bit out.

He laughed that strange laugh of his. "Just like a little china doll, gonna break if someone taps you over."

"Stop calling me that." She twisted his arm further.

"Come on, China Doll," he said through slightly gritted teeth. He felt Air's slim fingers tighten through her shirt sleeves. "You know you want to."

"Enough," a trainer's voice cut them off.

Awe growled at the sudden intrusion as Air jumped back, releasing his arm.

"Air, you are banned from the training rooms except for required Volunteer sessions. Your infraction is fighting with another Tribute. You are excused."

The girl nodded and left quickly. Awe, rubbing his red, swelling wrist, moved to follow her, but—

"Halt!"

Awe stopped short and turned to grin at the trainer. "Just heading for the infirmary, Boss-man. Since I'm banned from training."

"Awe, you will put in five additional hours of endurance training a day. Your inf—"

"Endurance?" Awe scowled. "That's stupid. What kind of punishment is that?"

The trainer stepped forward and looked down at him. Awe's scowl deepened when he noticed that he only came up to the man's chest; he'd always been short for his age.

"We wouldn't want to further injure your arm, would we?" the trainer sneered. "Can't have it escalate into something that would prevent you from being our Volunteer."

Awe took a deep breath and said, "That all?"

"You will report to endurance training immediately."

"But it's a holid—"

"Your infractions are provoking another Tribute to violence, and attempting to evade your duties as a Volunteer."

"Who's evading anything? I was just having a friendly conversation when my fellow Tribute attacked me."

The trainer leaned down so his face hovered over the boy's. "You won't get away with it, Awe."

"Get away? Great idea!" He bolted before the trainer could stop him again.

Instead of heading for endurance training, though, he took the hall that led back to the common room. With any luck, the others would still be in there, and still be angry.


	3. Volunteer Day

Thank you to everyone who followed and favorited! It really makes my day =)

Now to the story…

District 2-

The trainees had all gathered in the main auditorium, as they were required to do each year on Volunteer Day. They were sorted by age, the 6-year-olds being way in the last row, the 7s in the second-to-last, and so on up to the 18-year-olds in the front row. This was organized very intentionally so that the older children, those more likely to enter the Competition, were closer to the stage.

The stage was ornately decorated by deep red curtains with gold accents, and a gleaming golden podium at which stood the headmaster of the Training Academy. He was an older man, a former Victor for the district, with unnatural green hair and a missing nose.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen!" His voice boomed through the hall as his narrowed eyes scanned over the students. "I know you all are expecting me to call for entrants to the Volunteer Competition; however, due to a rule change for this year's games, there will not be a Competition."

He waited as the kids all widened their eyes in shock, none saying a word. When they were all done shifting uncomfortably, he continued.

"Your instructors and I have chosen the two tributes based on this temporary new rule set. I will announce them, and there will be no questions or appeals. Understood?"

His gaze swept across the silently nodding crowd, coming to rest briefly on the long line of people pressed against the far left wall of the auditorium. They were the Training Academy staff; cooks, janitors, servants, assistants, etc. Usually they did not attend the Volunteer Day ceremony, or any other events until the Reaping. Due to the special circumstances this year, though, it was necessary for them to be present. Not a single person in the room was happy about this—if nothing else, it meant dinner would be late.

"Your male tribute," the Headmaster spoke through slightly gritted teeth. All eyes returned to him. "Is Bear Bellen."

Everyone turned to focus on the fourth row, where a slight boy with short black hair slowly rose from his seat. They clapped respectfully as he made his way down the aisle and up to the stage to stand beside the Headmaster.

There was no real outcry over the selection: Bear was strong, intelligent, and more than proficient with most weapons. He probably would have signed up to compete that year, if only for the experience. In any case, he was definitely not their first choice, but he was a tribute they could still be proud to support in the arena.

The girl was a different story. The Headmaster knew this. He had to take a deep breath to continue.

"Your female tribute is Beyl Bellen."

Weighted silence dropped over the auditorium. After a minute, the children began to cautiously glance around the room, trying to figure out who Beyl Bellen was. All except Bear, whose shocked gaze was locked on a small, violet-eyed girl with long, silver hair, standing near the back of the row of staff. The girl's face seemed impassive, but Bear had seen her eyes widen ever so slightly when her name was called.

Beyl took a hesitant step forward, and then paused, looking to her fellow workers. None of them turned their heads from the ground.

"Beyl Bellen!" The Headmaster snapped.

The girl immediately ran down the aisle and up the stairs to the stage. She stopped short about three feet away from the Headmaster, hands clasped behind her back and head bowed, her strange-colored hair falling forward to block her face.

From the complete lack of noise and movement in the audience, the Headmaster knew they were outraged. It was understandable, seeing as Beyl was short, skinny, and completely untrained in combat. She would be killed shortly, and it was no fun to be stuck with someone like that from your district. The Headmaster himself did not approve of this, but orders were orders.

"Students, you are dismissed. Tributes, come with me." He turned on his heel and exited at the right wing of the stage. Bear followed closely behind him, and Beyl kept her safe distance and subservient stance as she trailed after.

They were led down several hallways until they reached an ornate golden door with swirling designs in red and silver. When the headmaster pushed the door open, the children found that the office behind it was just as ostentatious, filled with boldly colored furniture and decorations. Paintings of former headmasters and Victors covered almost every inch of available wall space, and large, grey marble sculptures were placed every few feet on the floor.

The Headmaster sat down behind an oversized black desk at the back of the room, and rested his elbows on the well-polished surface, levelling a glare at the Tributes standing before him.

"I am not happy with this situation," he said bluntly. "But the two of you _will _volunteer tomorrow."

"Request permission to speak, Headmaster," Bear said.

"Permission granted."

"Do the new rules include a change in the age restrictions? Because Beyl only just turned 11; she cannot compete." Bear knew of several other reasons that Beyl couldn't compete, but he felt age to be the safest thing to question.

"Really?" The Headmaster replied tersely as he pulled a piece of paper from the top drawer of his desk. "Because according to our records," he handed the paper to Bear, "she's 12."

Bear's lips pursed into a thin line as he read over the registry form, which, sure enough, gave Beyl's age as 12. He had just celebrated the girl's birthday with her nine days ago (albeit briefly, as he had to get back to his training and she to her work), and he knew it had been her 11th.

Why would the Academy change her age? Why did they want her to compete?

He tilted his head slightly to shake those thoughts away, and gave the form back to the Headmaster.

"I see. I apologize for questioning you, Headmaster."

The man nodded in acknowledgement, and then turned his calculating gaze to Beyl, who still stood several feet behind Bear. "You are dismissed from service. Tonight you will stay in one of the empty beds in the female dorms. Bear, you are responsible for finding her something suitable to wear for the Reaping tomorrow. Dismissed."

Bear gave a small bow and headed out of the room. He didn't hear any footsteps behind him, but he knew Beyl was following. When the heavy door had slammed behind them, he turned to the girl.

"We can go to the wardrobe center for your new clothes. And do not worry about training or the Games."

Beyl looked up at him, expression nearly blank except for the bit of confusion and fear Bear could still make out; he did know her better than anyone else at the Academy, after all.

"Why not?" She asked quietly.

"Because I promise to kill you swiftly in the Bloodbath. I will not let the others torture you, or make you starve or freeze. You do not deserve that."

He nodded and strode off in the direction of the wardrobe center, expecting Beyl to follow. She kept in step behind him, but her mind was on other things, such as how to avoid Bear and all the other careers in the arena.


	4. Reaping Day

Reaping Day

The Capitol-

Panem's alarm went off at 9:45 a.m. He groaned and rolled over, batting buttons lazily until the beeping stopped. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, but didn't bother to sit up. It wasn't like he could go anywhere.

It was Reaping Day, a day where not only was Panem locked in his apartment, but also in his bedroom, not to be allowed out until at least an hour after all the Reapings were done. He hated it, but it was his own fault really, after the incident 38 years ago.

It had been a little girl from District 8 that caused it. Panem later learned that she was 12 years old, but on the day her name was drawn from a glass bowl she looked no older than 9. When the Capitol representative called the girl's name, there was a scream from a woman in the crowd and Panem felt an immense pain in his chest, but that was normal during Reapings. The horrible part was the girl's father, who sprinted from the crowd, yelling for his daughter. He was quickly restrained by peacekeepers, and taken away as he screamed obscenities and cursed the Capitol (this was edited out of later airings, of course, but anyone watching it live heard). Not 20 minutes later Panem smashed his living room window with a chair, and was climbing onto the sill to follow it down when a guard busted into the apartment, pulled him down, and tranquilized him.

Since then, he was stuck in his bedroom, where there were no windows or sharp objects or anything else he could potentially harm himself with. There was also a guard stationed outside the door to make sure he didn't get "creative."

At 10 o' clock sharp, the projection screen automatically appeared on the wall across from Panem's bed. He sat up, leaned against the headboard, and pulled his comforter up to his neck, resting his chin on it. He hadn't realized how much he would miss having Paneko to cuddle with. On the screen, Caesar Flickerman was welcoming the country to the live broadcast and chatting with Claudius Templesmith about what they thought the Tributes would be like this year. After a few minutes of, in Panem's opinion, pointless speculation, the view shifted to an ornately decorated stage in District 1. With no further introduction necessary, as all citizens were aware of the videos and such that happened before the actual drawings, the man on-stage was already preparing to move to the bowls.

"Are you ready, District 1!" He shouted, and the crowd cheered and clapped in response. The career district Reapings always were the best for Panem—everyone was just so happy! "Alright," the man continued. "Ladies first."

His hand dove into the bowl, but he didn't dig around for long, knowing that this was just a formality. He read the name without much enthusiasm, and the girl from the audience walked up to stand beside him, but the crowd was holding their breath as they waited for the important part.

"Now, are there any volunteers!" It wasn't a question; he knew the answer.

"I volunteer," a girl in a silky red dress and tall black heels stepped forward. She had long black hair pulled up in intricate knots and twists, and a pair of large crystal earrings dangling down to her shoulders. She looked like a typical District 1 tribute, all dolled up to be gorgeous. She smiled as she strode to the stage.

"And what is your name?" The representative asked.

"Air," she calmly replied. The crowd erupted in cheers again, and Panem smiled a bit.

When they'd quieted down once again, the man continued. "Time for the boys!" He drew a slip from the bowl and had barely begun to read it when he was cut off.

"Yeah, yeah, who cares? I volunteer!" A silver-haired boy appeared in the aisle, grinning broadly. His shimmering silver suit jacket was unbuttoned, and his shirt was untucked, but the most striking thing about him was his eyes. They were a deep red, and they shone as he ran up the steps two at a time, stopping next to the representative and taking the microphone from him. "I'm Awe, and I'm going to win the Hunger Games!"

He threw his fists in the air as the crowd exploded with applause. Even Panem laughed and clapped a bit, sharing the love his citizens were obviously feeling for this confident boy. He did notice the white bandages peeking out from the edges of the kid's sleeves, but didn't pay them much mind.

"There you have it," the representative said after he'd snatched the mike back. "Your District 1 tributes: Air and Awe!"

The broadcast returned to Caesar and Claudius.

"Well, they certainly seem like an interesting duo," Caesar began.

"Especially that boy," Claudius replied. "Now he looks like he's going to be an intriguing competitor."

"Yes, the tributes from District 1 are always quite confident, but this Awe appears to know exactly how to work the crowd as well."

"Yes, one thing I did notice though, Caesar, is that they appear to be a bit younger than the usual tributes from 1."

"I noticed that as well, Claudius…"

Panem lost interest, instead reaching over to his nightstand and grabbing a box of cereal from it. The announcers talked for another 10 minutes, and Panem still found it amazing how they never ran out of things to discuss about something that had lasted maybe five minutes at most. Finally, it was time for District 2.

The stage for this ceremony was just as elaborate as 1's, and the man doing the drawings was just as excited about his job.

"Let's begin!" He drew a slip of paper from the girls' bowl and read it to the crowd, who remained silent. This part was just as unimportant as it was in 1. "Are there any volunteers?" He asked.

To the shock of everyone in the audience, no one spoke up. They all glanced to the gathered training center students, none of which were moving.

"I said," the man tried again, "are there any volunteers?"

The silence was crushing, and the girl whose name had actually been drawn started to shake. Panem didn't blame her; someone _always_ volunteered from 2. No one ever needed to worry if their name was drawn.

Suddenly, there was a cry of pain as a small girl tumbled into the aisle, clutching her stomach, pale blue dress tangling around her feet. She pushed her long silver hair behind her ear with one hand as she stood, pointedly staring at the ground. She took a deep breath before she spoke.

"I volunteer." It was barely audible, but the crowd knew what she'd said. The applause was quiet and cautious as she slowly walked to take the place of the relieved other girl.

Her arm was still around her midsection, and Panem swore he saw her impassive-looking violet eyes water as the man hesitantly asked for her name.

"Beyl," she said shortly, gaze still focused on the floor.

"And time for the boys!" The man quickly moved on. He rushed to the bowl, pulled out a name, and read it. As soon as the boy put a foot on the stage, the man shouted, "Any volunteers?"

"I volunteer."

The tension dropped a bit as a boy with short black hair stepped forward. When asked his name, he replied, "Bear Bellen."

The crowd cheered for him, but Panem didn't join this time. He was studying little Beyl, who really was very tiny, both in height and apparent weight. She was nothing like a normal 2 tribute. She was the first volunteer he, and everyone else in the country, had ever seen who clearly did not want to be one at all.

It was strange for him to feel sad during a career district Reaping; usually they were such joyous ceremonies. Yet it hurt, somehow, to see Beyl trying to keep an emotionless face when she clearly wanted to break down crying. He was quite happy when it switched back to Caesar and Claudius, who kept up their usual casual banter as if there hadn't been an incredibly unsettling scene before them.

"So, that's an interesting twist from District 2," Claudius said.

"Yes, a refreshing change from their usual volunteers," Caesar nodded. "They must be going for strategy over strength with this approach."

"It'll be fascinating to see what sort of abilities the girl will have."

"Yes, she must be very confident to volunteer at such a young age."

"Although she did look a bit nervous, Caesar."

"Well, self-confidence does not always equal confidence in front of the camera, Claudius."

They both laughed, and Panem took a large gulp from a bottle of water to calm his nerves.

It was obvious when they were straining for other things to speak of after about ten minutes. Swiftly, they sent it over to District 3, who were blissfully unaware of the previous events, and who probably wouldn't see the full story in the edited recaps that would run later in the day.

A peppy lady clad in green and pink trilled from the stage, "Who will the lucky lady be?" as her hand plunged into the bowl. "Carowen Zar!"

It cut to a view of the crowd, where a young girl with shoulder-length blonde hair and a puffy pink dress stood with her jaw hanging open, hands on her hips. "Oh, you have _so _got to be kidding me," she said. With a huff, she flicked her hair back and strode to the stage. Panem noted that she didn't look particularly scared, just annoyed.

The escort obligatorily asked for volunteers, but the electronics district wasn't like the careers; the chances of someone volunteering were low.

"Then on to the boys!" She drew a slip. "Al-, uh… Als—uh, Callen?"

"Alst! The name that you're trying to pronounce is Alst," a blonde boy with large, dark eyebrows stomped up the stairs, arms crossed. He too looked irritated, but Panem could see the fear in his eyes that wasn't present in the girl's.

The middle districts went on like they usually did. Panem would feel pangs in his heart at every draw, some stronger than others. The thing that was unusual was how young all the tributes were. He'd been somewhat surprised with the ages of the careers (especially the 2 girl), but the odds of all the Reapings being children whose names couldn't possibly have been in there many times were low. And Panem knew about odds. The oldest one appeared to be the girl from 5, and if the glint of murder in her eyes was any clue, then Panem was sure she could probably slaughter all the other tributes.

District 12-

"Lo!"

Loest cringed at the call, trying to ignore it. Maybe if he just kept walking, the pest would go away.

"Lo! Wait up!" Suddenly, a hand clasped his shoulder from behind, making him cringe again, this time out of pain. "Hey, let's walk together!"

"Let go of me," Loest snapped. He shoved the hand off and turned to face its owner; a tall, grinning boy with bright blue eyes and blond hair that stuck up wildly.

"I see anger!" The boy cried, pointing a finger at him. "You have emotions today!"

"It's Reaping Day, you idiot," Loest grumbled, and then turned to continue his trek to the town square.

"Are you scared?" The boy's expression instantly flashed to one of concern. "Don't worry, Lo; they won't pick your name. It's only in there twice. What are the odds?" He reached out to take Loest's hand, but only managed to grasp his wrist.

"Ow!" Loest yelped and pulled his arm away. "Can you go five minutes without injuring me, Sef?"

"I'm sorry!" The older boy did look genuinely apologetic.

Sef was incredibly concerned about Loest; the boy had become very ill about two years ago, and consequently lost a lot of weight and muscle. Honestly, between being sick and living in the District 12 orphan home, everyone found it a miracle that he had lasted so long already, but Sef held onto hope that his childhood friend would eventually get better.

They walked in silence for a while, trying to delay getting to the square. At one point, Sef stuffed his hands in his pockets, and his face brightened when his fingers brushed on something.

"Oh Lo, I almost forgot!" He stepped in front of Loest, avoiding touching him again. "I got you a present. Close your eyes."

Loest rolled his eyes. "Sef, we're going to be late."

"Please?" He gave an earnest grin and Loest sighed, closing his navy-colored eyes as requested.

Sef pulled a metal hairpin out of his pocket. It was simple, just a silver t-shaped thing with a clasp on the back. He'd, uh, 'borrowed' it from one of his classmates after Loest complained about how long his hair was getting. He reached out and carefully clipped it into the younger boy's platinum blonde hair, successfully pushing most of the bangs off his face.

"There. Open your eyes."

Loest did so and reached up to touch the new accessory. "What is this?"

"You were saying you were sick of your hair getting in your eyes, so I gotchya that yesterday." He stepped back to examine his work. "Wow, you almost look like a girl!"

Loest frowned and made to pull the clip out, but Sef batted the air to shoo his hands away.

"No, no, no! You look fine, I was just kidding."

"Whatever, let's just get going." Loest turned away again, hand still lightly touching the hairclip. He allowed a small smile when he knew that Sef couldn't see.

The rest of their trip was silent. It wasn't until they were checking in at the square that problems arose. Sef was first, and went through to the boys' side without issue. Then Loest had his blood taken. As he moved to follow Sef, one of the Peacekeepers grabbed his arm. Loest gasped, trying to keep the pain off his face.

"Miss, you're going to the wrong side," the Peacekeeper said and started to pull Loest toward the girls.

"Hey!" Sef pushed his way back to the table. "Let go of him, you're hurting him!"

As Sef was restrained, Loest planted his feet on the ground. "What do you mean 'wrong side'? I'm a _boy_."

"Stop it, don't hurt him!" Sef struggled against his captor, but he was too small to make much of a difference. Both Peacekeepers pulled out their guns, swiftly aiming them at the boys' heads.

"Return to your side for the Reaping," the one holding Sef said, and then shoved him in that direction.

"Come with me," the other said to Loest.

"May I walk by myself?" The boy asked. "I apologize for any trouble I may have caused." He took it as a personal victory when the Peacekeeper released his arm, which definitely felt like it was bruising, and allowed him to go alone to the girl's side. He still couldn't understand why the system was registering him as a girl all of a sudden, but he decided not to worry about it. For now, he'd focus on cradling his heavily discolored arm. Did he really have to be so fragile? It was ridiculous.

As the opening speeches began, Loest tried to find Sef in the crowd. It took a minute, as the other boy was much shorter than most his age, but Loest finally spotted his head of untamed hair. No surprise, Sef was already looking at him. He probably hadn't taken his eyes off his friend since the fiasco at the table.

'You ok?' Sef mouthed.

Loest shrugged.

'Arm?' Sef asked, pointing at his own.

Loest shrugged again. 'Sore,' he mouthed back. Really, it was more than sore, but he didn't need Sef causing another scene.

He looked up at the stage, where the district escort was proclaiming how wonderful the games were, and blah, blah, blah. The man reminded him of Sef, personality-wise anyway. Both were boisterous and loud and a pain in Loest's neck (in their own ways of course). But while Sef looked, well, normal, the escort had fluffy pink hair and purple-tinted skin, and wore far more make-up than any person (man or woman) had a right to. His green suit clashed strangely with the rest of him, and even though he'd been District 12's escort for the past six years, they never really got used to looking at him.

"Time for the best part!" He trilled. "Ladies first!"

He went to the appropriate glass bowl and reached in, digging around for a minute before finally drawing a slip. He skipped back to the microphone and cleared his throat.

"Loest Len!"

There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd, but Loest's eyes just widened in shock.

What?

"Loest, where are you, dear?" The escort called.

The whole district was staring at him, he knew it. He sought for Sef again and found his friend to be just as confused as everyone else. It was only after Loest had taken a few steps forward that Sef shook out of his stupor.

"No!" he cried, shoving his way into the center aisle just as Loest reached it. "You can't pick him!" Two peacekeepers appeared to restrain him again, and the escort rolled his eyes with a laugh.

"Come on up, Loest, don't be shy!" He beckoned to the still-shaken blond.

"He's a _boy_, you idiot! Why can't any of you see that he's a boy?" Sef looked to some of the other kids from the orphan home for help. "Tell them!"

None of them said anything.

When Loest stepped on the platform, Sef twisted fiercely and managed to break away, sprinting down the aisle and up the stairs in a few long strides. He pushed Loest behind him and glared at the escort.

"Loest is a boy. You need to pick someone else."

The escort laughed again and patted Sef's head as Peacekeepers swarmed to drag him from the stage.

"Her name was drawn," the escort said. "You should be proud; your friend is representing you in the Games!"

He promptly put a hand on Loest's shoulder and pulled him to stand next to the microphone. After glancing to make sure that Sef was under control, he smiled. "Are there any volunteers? No? Now for the boys!"

He once again reached into the bowl and dug around for a minute, and then skipped to the mike. "Your male tribute is… Sef Len!"

At the side of the stage, Sef froze.

"What?" he said.

Loest's eyes widened; he was doing that a lot today, completely destroying his usual emotionless image. But that wasn't important.

"Sef," he said to his friend, who had yet to move.

"Oh, is that him?" the escort asked. His smile had become very forced. Both boys nodded stiffly. "Well, let him up then."

The Peacekeepers let go of Sef. He instantly ran to stand by Loest. He was about to take his friend's hand when the escort pushed in between them, grabbed their wrists and pulled their arms in the air.

"Your District 12 tributes; Loest and Sef Len!"

Loest's face twisted with pain from the tight grip on his already injured arm. Sef, on the other hand, looked like he was going to be sick: he would be competing with Loest. No, _against_ Loest. His best friend for as long as he could remember. What the hell was he supposed to do?

District 10-

Nichi Vaimoni sat on the very edge of the under-stuffed couch in the courthouse, fiddling with the hem of his gray button-up shirt, which refused to lie flat.

His name had been drawn.

He was going to die a horrible, painful death in a terrifying place far away from home while his family watched him beg for mercy in his last moments before his head was axed off of his body or a knife was plunged into his heart or his stomach was skewered with a spear…

Yes, Nichi was quite the pessimist. But even with optimism, he was under no delusions that he could actually win the Hunger Games. He just thought about his tall, intimidating district mate and knew there was no way he'd even stand a chance against her, let alone competitors like the Careers.

Well, Medaj wasn't _that_ tall, but compared to Nichi, who was the shortest in his grade, the farm-tending girl was a giant.

And that was the other thing: Medaj worked with the cattle, tending to them and butchering them and the like. She already knew how to kill things, whereas Nichi lived in a nice house with a rather well-off (for District 10) family, and had no need to do or know how to do such things. He knew how to sew because he was raised by the only seamstress in the district, and he did well enough in school.

In short, he would probably die in the Bloodbath.

Maybe he could ask Medaj to be kind enough to kill him quickly so that none of the others would have a chance to make it brutal and slow.

He really shouldn't be left alone. It clearly wasn't healthy for him.

The door opened abruptly, and his adoptive parents and sister were all ushered in.

"You have five minutes," a Peacekeeper reminded them before shutting the door.

"Nichi, dear, I'm so sorry," his mother said as she pulled him close. She wasn't crying, but Nichi could see the water building up in her eyes; she was trying to stay strong.

"Ni-ni?" a small voice said, and Nichi looked down to see his little sister pulling on his pant leg. "Why you're sad?"

Nichi put on a smile and crouched down to her level. "Because I have to go away."

"Where away?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Far away, to a fancy place like you see on the projectors."

"When you're coming back?"

Nichi paused and had to look at his shoes for a second. It was hard to maintain his smile when his sister gave him that innocent look of confusion. She was only three; too young to understand what death was, what the Hunger Games meant.

"I'm… not," he said slowly. He didn't want her to be constantly asking their parents when he was coming home, which was something she did while he was just at school. He couldn't lie. He was ready when she started crying, and he put his hands on her shoulders. "Now, I want you to be a good girl, okay? You have to listen to Mom and Dad, and keep up with your chores."

"But I don't want you to go!" She threw her arms around her brother's neck.

"I know, I know," he said as he hugged her tightly. "But hey." He took her shoulders again and held her at arm's length, making eye contact. "You have to promise that you'll be a good girl for me, because where I'm going I'll be watching over you, and I don't want to see you upset or getting in trouble, okay? Do you promise?"

She sniffled and nodded. "I promise."

Their mother reached down and scooped the girl into her arms. "How about we go outside now, sweetie," she said and carried her out of the room, leaving Nichi alone with his father.

"Please try to win," the man said, looking at the ground.

"I will," Nichi said. "But I don't think—"

"Just _try_," his father cut him off. Nichi nodded solemnly.

Both were silent, examining the carpet for a moment.

"I'm sorry you adopted me," Nichi said softly.

His dad's head instantly snapped up. "Don't say that. Don't _ever_ say that. Your mother and I have never and will never regret adopting you." He gently took his son's chin and tilted his head up, "you are the best son we could've asked for. This isn't your fault. Don't ever think that we blame you."

Nichi nodded again and his father sighed.

"Your mother thought we should give you this," he said, pulling something out of his pocket. "It's not exactly meaningful or anything, but you're allowed to bring one thing into the arena with you, and it was the only thing we had with us that's small so…" He held out his hand, and in his palm was a thimble. A small, silver thimble that his mother had probably just found digging through her pockets after Nichi was chosen.

Nichi took it from his father's outstretched hand and curled a fist around it tightly.

"Please try to win," his father repeated. "You may not be as strong as the others, but you have other skills—"

"You want me to mend them all to death?" Nichi joked with a sad smile.

"Sometimes people win by outsmarting everyone; maybe you could be one of those. But please, try to come home."

Nichi gave a resigned sigh. "I'll do my best."

His father pulled him into a hug just as the Peacekeeper came in to tell them that their time was up. As Nichi was once again left alone, he played with the thimble absentmindedly, trying to ignore his racing thoughts.

He'd lied.

Kind of.

He _was _going to do his best, but he doubted it would be much.

He didn't have more time to contemplate this since another Peacekeeper came in to lead him to the car outside the courthouse. Medaj was out there, too, glaring at everything around her. Of course, that was her normal expression. Nichi felt bad for her; she lived in the orphan home and didn't have any friends that he knew of. The two of them had gotten on well enough when they were younger, but after Nichi was adopted and moved across the district they stopped talking to each other, and he'd never seen her hanging around anyone else. He wondered if she had had anyone to visit her at all just now.

Both were ushered into the backseat of a shiny car, seated on either side of their district escort, who reeked of some sort of flower. As they rolled through town, Nichi stared out the window, trying to find his family. When they reached the train station, he began to cry.

Yes, it was a sign of weakness, especially with the cameras on him. Yes, it would probably make him an easy target. But he was already destined to die, and he knew it. And if he felt like crying, then damn it, he was going to cry.

District 7-

Jori practically sprinted onto the train, dragging her district mate along behind her.

"Kied, look at this. It's amazing!" She dashed to an intricately decorated table. "This is so cool! Check out these windows!"

Jori was strong, Kied noted as he was yanked all around the train car. The two of them were the same age, but Jori could probably lift Kied and chuck him across the room without much effort.

"So what do you think?" Their escort called, having followed them aboard along with their mentors.

"It's awesome!" Jori yelled. She really didn't have an indoor voice. "Do we actually get to take this all the way to the Capitol?"

"Of course!" The escort replied, clapping her hands. She had been surprised at Jori's excitement earlier, but now was thrilled to have a tribute with so much enthusiasm, instead of the usual downtrodden, depressed kids. "And wait until you see your rooms!"

"Come on, Kied, we have to see our rooms!" She jerked him toward the car door, pushing past their annoyed mentors.

Her short, dark blonde hair bounced happily as she tore down the hallway.

"This is gonna be so cool. We're gonna be on camera! And we get to go the Capitol and see all the fancy stuff! Oh, I think this is your room."

She shoved open the door, revealing a large room with the biggest bed Kied had ever seen. There was a nightstand and a mirror, and he could see doors leading to a dressing room and a bathroom, but that bed was what really captured his attention.

A grin spread across his face and he ran forward, jumping face-first into the plush light blue comforter.

"This is amazing," he said into the bed. Jori laughed and leaped after him, landing on her back to his right.

"Sure beats those stiff things at the orphan home," she said.

"Did anyone visit you?" he asked, flipping over.

"Nah," Jori shook her head. "How 'bout you?"

"Nope. Do you think the Capitol will be just like it looks in the Ceremonies?"

"I hope so!" The girl's sapphire eyes shone with excitement. "Glittering buildings everywhere, bright colors and all the people screaming my name." She sighed contentedly.

"Why just your name?"

"'Cuz I'll be the Victor, of course!" Jori propped herself up on her elbows. "And I'll have all the parades and the tour in my honor. You're going to be so jealous of me!"

Kied frowned. "Why would I be there?"

"Well, I'm not going to shun you just 'cuz you lost. You and all the other Tributes are definitely invited to my winning celebration."

"But if you won, wouldn't the rest of us be dead?"

"Nah, that's just how the show works." Jori waved a hand to shoo the idea away. "They make it look like they're killed, but it's just effects and stuff."

"Oh," Kied's face twisted with confusion, dark brows furrowing over his bright green eyes. "Then how come the losers from our district never come back?"

"They're infamous now! They can't just come back to their old lives. Wouldn't you be embarrassed to come back if you lost in front of the whole nation?"

"Oh… well that makes sense!" Kied smiled again.

"Yeah, you worry too much," Jori pushed his shoulder playfully. "They're called 'games' for a reason. They wouldn't actually kill anybody."

The Capitol-

Panem watched the news feeds for a while, basically just Tributes walking through crowds and getting on trains while Caesar and Claudius commented, before there was a knock at his door.

"You will be attending the Reaping Celebration tonight," the guard informed him. "You have thirty minutes to change."

Panem sighed and pushed back his comforter, sliding off the bed. He begrudgingly pulled a ridiculous periwinkle-and-maroon striped suit from his closet and changed into it, intentionally putting the tie on wrong so that the plain side faced out and it laid flat against his chest. Now Feroe would definitely be glaring at him for the entire party.

Next, he grabbed his make-up case and, not bothering to look in a mirror, smeared red shadow over his eyelids and blue gloss on his lips. He left his hair the way it was, as it stuck out at odd angles on its own. Lastly, he slid on a pair of mismatched leather boots that reached his knees and zipped over his pants. Feeling sufficiently bizarre, he knocked on his bedroom door and smiled at the guard when he opened it.

"It's my favorite part of the day!" he chirped, actually feeling his mood brighten at the prospect of a celebration.

The guard's stoic gaze did not change. "You're running late. President Snow is expecting you in twelve minutes. Let's go."

Panem sighed again and followed the man out of his apartment.


End file.
